


When the Past Comes Calling...With Automatic Weapons

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Assault, Badass Eliot, Gen, Guns, Hostage Situations, Next Generation, Original Character(s), Past Violence, Protective Eliot Spencer, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: Trouble follows Quinn around like an overly affectionate dog.  He didn't really mean to bring it to the Bridgeport Pub this time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [V_vulpes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_vulpes/gifts).



> Now *this* is the gift I wrote for you, V_Vulpes. Sorry for the earlier mis-labeling. From your prompts about Quinn bringing trouble to the Leverage doorstep, and someone from the past coming back to cause trouble. When it comes to Damien Moreau's backstory I steal liberally from the amazing scout_lover - Alexander and Jules Moreau are her creation, along with their sister Adrijana.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - and thanks for playing with us!

“Give me a porter.”

Grinning as his recognized the voice, Eliot went into the cooler and came back holding a medium dark ale. “Last batch we got in wasn’t worth your time,” he said, setting the bottle down in front of the new customer and twisting off the top. “What brings you in from the cold, Quinn?”

He sobered immediately, as he saw the expression on the other hitter’s face. “I’ve just done something for you people I swore I’d never do for anybody.” Sweeping up the bottle, Quinn took a long swig of the dark amber liquid.

“I’ve just turned down a contract.”  
*****************************  
Before the other hitter could say anything else, Eliot turned over custody of the bar and ushered him into the offices in back. “Talk,” he ordered, motioning Hardison and Parker in close.

His heart sank as Quinn’s eyes ticked to each of them in turn, settling a beat too long on Hardison. “It’s definitely not a hit,” the hitter said finally, looking back to Eliot. “Somebody’s put up an insane amount of money for Hardison – and they’re very specific about wanting him alive and in one piece. I was in the area, so I figured it would be better to deliver the news in person.” He shrugged. “And offer my help, if you want it.”

Eliot could feel Parker watching him. “Just because Quinn didn’t pick up the contract…” she said, her voice trailing off.

“Doesn’t mean somebody won’t,” he finished, nodding. Looking back at Quinn he said, “What do you know?”

“I tried to put out some feelers,” Quinn said, “but this guy – whoever he is – knows how the game is played.” Pulling out a small phone, he passed it over to Hardison. “Show of trust. I know I can’t stop you from looking at everything, but…”

“Hey – you help save my ass, man, we’re cool.” The hacker’s fingers began dancing across the screen, then just as quickly stopped. “What the..?”

Eliot’s chest tightened as he recognized the tone in Hardison’s voice. He glanced at Quinn – the idea that the other hitter might have betrayed them flashing through his mind – but he dismissed it almost as quickly as his arm shot out, stopping Parker from acting on what Eliot was sure was the same assumption. “Clear the restaurant,” he told her. Whatever Hardison had found, something very bad was getting ready to happen.

The hacker’s dark eyes met his. “Somebody hooked into the GPS on his phone,” he confirmed. “They’re actively tracking him.”

Quinn snatched back his phone, dropped it on the floor and began crushing it beneath his boot heel. Eliot kept his focus on Hardison, who shook his head – his expression conveying more eloquently than words just how useless Quinn’s actions would turn out to be. “How long?” he asked.

Almost as if on cue, the sounds of screams and breaking glass reached their ears, coming from the pub. All three of them ran the way Parker had gone.  
***************************  
Parker was uppermost in Hardison’s thoughts as he trailed Eliot and Quinn – followed closely by whatever carnage might about to be unleashed in their dining room. The last thing he was concerned with was his own safety, which was why he was completely unprepared when Quinn abruptly spun and knocked him into the nearest wall. Shock was almost immediately swallowed up by anger, but by the time he had regained enough of his wits to try and fight Quinn’s hold on him, the other hitter had a hand over his mouth and was trying to get him to listen.

“They’re here for you.” The loud whisper finally penetrated Hardison’s rising panic, and he stared into Quinn’s dark eyes – trying to process the reality of what the hitter was saying. “I’m thinking we don’t just hand you over, okay?”

Hardison closed his eyes, trying to get his mind around the idea of himself as the target. It went against every instinct he had to leave his teammates in the thick of a fight involving his customers and his pub, but Quinn’s words had the force of logic behind them. Opening his eyes at last, he nodded.

Quinn held him for an additional second, clearly gauging how sincere he was, but then he released him and stepped back – giving Hardison as much personal space as he could. “Follow me,” Hardison told him, his mind already racing ahead to what they needed to get on top of this situation.

First on his mental list was information, and that meant getting an eye on the invaders. “You come into _my_ house,” he muttered as he and Quinn returned to the back office. A touch of the right app on his phone brought the monitors to life. A quick swipe to the left showed them the security feed from the restaurant.

“Professionals,” Quinn observed, looking at the gunmen arranged around the dining room. “Look like out of towners – probably European from the hardware.”

Wherever they had come from, there were more than enough of them to cover the eighteen patrons and six staff. By the time Hardison finished counting, two more gunmen were marching the kitchen staff into view.

Parker hadn’t had time to clear anyone out. She and Eliot were both covered from all angles; the thief’s hands were high in the air, and her expression openly murderous. Eliot was standing a few feet away, hands loose at his side; his expression one Hardison had seen often – just before serious damage was unleashed. “Who’s in charge?” he asked sharply, sweeping the assembled gunmen with his gaze. “I want to talk to your boss – now!”

Hardison readied his facial recognition software. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

“Whoever this is,” Quinn commented, “he knows his stuff. This is military precision here.”

“Doesn’t tell us what he wants with me, though,” Hardison observed. “Come on, you bastard – show yourself!”

After what seemed like an eternity, the front door of the pub opened and a dark-haired young man with heavily Slavic and Mediterranean features walked calmly into the dining room. “Hello, Eliot.”

“Interesting,” Quinn commented. Hardison was watching his software work – silently urging the program to go faster. He still couldn’t figure out how he fit into this puzzle, and the idea that the man behind it knew Eliot just confused things even further.

“Alexander,” Eliot said, stepping forward. “You could have called.”

“Alexander?” Quinn asked, clearly as confused as Hardison was. A moment later though, the facial recognition software resolved into a passport photo.

“Aw, hell no,” Hardison moaned as he read the name his software had thrown back at him.

 _Alexander Moreau._  
*****************************************  
The man Eliot had last seen as a fifteen year old boy – Damien Moreau’s middle child – crossed his arms over his chest. “Calling might leave you with the impression we were friends, Eliot. And after you betrayed my family, that’s the last word I would use to describe our relationship.”

 _This is going to be bad._ Eliot had never missed his ear bud more. He had to assume Quinn had gotten Hardison to something resembling safety, but he needed all three of them – Parker and Hardison included – to understand enough of what was unfolding to stop them from doing something fatally stupid. “What do you want with Alec Hardison?” 

Alexander had always loved military strategy and tactics. He’d absorbed everything Eliot had ever been willing to tell him, and Damien had agreed to send him to the finest military schools in Europe. His attack on the pub was a testament to his skill and how screwed they were if Eliot couldn’t turn things around.

“Your ‘twenty-four year old genius with a smart phone and a problem with authority’?” Alexander asked, smirking in a way that Eliot would have sworn he’d never see on this particular one of Damien’s sons. The boy he had known was largely a gentle, bookish soul.

The man that faced him now showed hints of a terrifying blend of his mother and father coming into play. “Alec Hardison was the man who brought down a government that had shielded and supported my family for decades. With his skills at our disposal, nobody will question Jules’ right to assume control of Damien Moreau’s empire.” He paused. “With me at his side, of course – the way father had always intended you to be at his.”

On the surface it sounded reasonable – if a little over-the top. That had always been the trap though – _”I will lay the world at your feet, if you forswear allegiance to all others – governments, friends, family…”_ Eliot had been only a few years older than Hardison when Damien had first made that offer to him.

“He won’t go for it,” Parker said, bringing her hands down slightly. “Your father almost drowned him – he hates your entire family.”

“And you have to know that if your plan is to take him by force,” Eliot added, “you’ll have to come through me to do it.”

“Us,” Parker finished. She slowly lowered her hands, clenching them into fists. “You come through us.”  
***************************  
Quinn gave a low whistle. “That is some serious loyalty at work.”

Hardison blinked back tears, not trusting himself to speak and not willing to risk getting either Parker or Eliot hurt on his behalf. “You know where the back door is,” he told Quinn, calling up his control of the building systems. “Get around to the front and be ready as soon as I give the signal.”

He felt Quinn watching him for a moment, then the hitter said, “I take it I’ll know it when I hear it?”

Hardison favored him with a grin then - _not_ one of his nicer ones. “And they said you were just the pretty one.”

As soon as he was alone, Hardison called up the sprinkler system for the building and began ramping up the pressure on the pipes. Blowing one head in the dining room might create enough confusion for the fighters to turn things around.

_Blowing more than one head…_

As the pressure continued to rise, Hardison made his way back to the dining room – staying carefully out of view. Eliot was still talking to Alexander; Hardison knew he would never be comfortable with the idea that his teammate had actually cared about Damien Moreau and his family once upon a time. “You don’t have to take this route, Alex. You want revenge that’s fine – I understand that. You know I do. These people are innocent though! They’ve got…”

None of them would ever hear what Eliot thought Bridgeport’s customers had. The ear-splitting sound of the fire alarm klaxon cut across the dining room, followed by a flood of water as half a dozen sprinkler heads gave way under the pressure. Bracing himself for the imminent soaking, Hardison raced into the dining room – tracking immediately for the location of the restaurant patrons.

Quinn had come in the front exactly on cue, lashing out against as many gunmen as he could reach. Parker and Eliot were right behind him. Hardison kept his focus on the civilians, grabbing people as he reached them, and ushering them out the back.

Before he made it halfway through their patrons, he saw Eliot darting through the deluge, heading for the sprinkler cut off valve. A few more moments, and the water flow ceased. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “We are very sorry for the inconvenience. Come back next week and enjoy a meal on the house!”

He didn’t know if anyone was registering what he said, but it made him feel a little bit better.  
**************************************  
It wasn’t the neatest solution they could have come up with, but under the circumstances Eliot wasn’t in the mood to complain. He was reasonably certain none of the others knew just how seriously bad the whole mess could have gone – Damien Moreau’s sons grown to manhood and looking for revenge was going to be a recurring nightmare for him for a while to come.

Exchanging looks with his teammates, Eliot verified they were both all right, before helping an old man and his wife make it to the front door.

When he turned back to the wreck of the dining room, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. Alexander was down on the floor, and Quinn had a 9mm Sig Sauer pointed at the boy’s head. “Quinn,” he said, injecting a note of warning into the other hitter’s name.

Quinn didn’t let himself be distracted. “You know this is the smart play. There’s another son, isn’t there?”

 _Jules._ Eliot did the math and realized that Damien’s eldest child would be almost as old as Parker by now. “We’re not killing him,” he told Quinn. “Not yet.”

One eyebrow arched. “I don’t exactly need your help, you know.”

Eliot glanced down – Alexander’s dark eyes met his. “He’ll do it,” Eliot told the boy he’d once cared for like his own child. “After what you’ve done here today, I’m not even sure I should stop him.”

“You shouldn’t,” Alexander said flatly, and Eliot could suddenly see the writing on the wall. As much as he’d allowed himself to think that he was influencing Alex, the only parts of him the boy had absorbed in the end were the ones that – even now – belonged to Damien.

Feeling himself begin to slip, Eliot instinctively looked for Parker and Hardison. The sight of his teammates immediately steadied him. _You’re not that man anymore,_ Sophie’s voice whispered in his head, immediately followed by Nate’s _He might have to be._ It was the tightrope he would always end up walking, and he would do it happily if it meant keeping thief and hacker safe.

“Parker, Quinn,” he said finally, deciding on what they needed to do, “find a place in back to secure Mr. Moreau.” He focused on Hardison then – the prize Alexander had determined to use against him. “Reach out to Jules Moreau. Fill him in on what’s happened, and tell him from me that if he wants his brother back he will be here in seventy-two hours, ready to talk terms.” He saw Parker and Quinn stop short at his words, but stayed focused on Hardison. “Go. Exactly what I told you to say.”

Nodding, the hacker disappeared into the back. “You’re _inviting_ him here?” Parker asked, followed closely by Quinn’s observation, “That’s a hell of a bluff you’re putting out there.”

“We can’t go to war with Moreau’s organization any more now than we could two years ago,” Eliot said, meeting Alexander’s gaze without flinching. “But there are ways to negotiate a peace – ways these two grew up learning, even if they didn’t realize what they were absorbing at the time.”

“Jules will never negotiate with you,” Alexander spat, his eyes filled with a hatred that burned Eliot on a deeper level than he would ever admit out loud.

“You better hope he will,” Eliot said, stepping in dangerously close to their prisoner. “I spared your life just now for the sake of the boy you were. If Jules decides I’m bluffing, you’re both going to learn exactly what I did for your father – the kind of stuff you only heard whispered about when you were growing up.” He leaned in a little further, just enough to force Alexander to pull back. “Is your sister still at that fancy boarding school in Paris?”

That did it. “You wouldn’t,” Alexander whispered, as doubt and horror filled his dark eyes.

“For my family’s safety? Think about what you were prepared to do just now for your family’s honor, then ask yourself that question again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot confronts Damien's eldest son and heir.

It was nearly midnight before Eliot was free to check on their ‘guest’. Even without Nate or Sophie, Leverage International was the best in the business – but there was no reasonable way to make a full on terrorist attack vanish, not in a post-9/11 world. There were calls to make, detectives and other suits to deal with and dead and injured gunmen to dispose of. Once he’d sent out his feelers searching for contact with Damien Moreau’s eldest son, Hardison had turned his attention to more practical considerations; insurance companies, painters, drywallers, and all the other types that would be needed to put the pub back in operation.

“The broom closet?” he asked, pulling up short as he saw where Quinn had positioned himself. “Really?”

His fellow hitter shrugged. “Parker said it was the most secure place you had. Unless you’ve got a hidden dungeon around here somewhere, gotta say I agree with her.” He pushed easily to his feet and stepped to one side, passing Eliot the closet key.

“For the record,” Quinn added, as Eliot unlocked the door, “the party hat wasn’t my idea.”

Eliot paused, exhaling softly as he saw what Quinn was talking about. Alexander was sitting on the floor of the closet, surrounded by buckets, brooms, mops and cleaning supplies. His hands were secured behind him, he was blindfolded, gagged, and there was a Spongebob Squarepants conical party hat sitting askew on his dark curls.

“Don’t ever let Parker poke the bear,” he said, glancing back at the other hitter.

Quinn raised his hands. “Girl carries a Taser and has a rep with forks.”

“Both of which you can survive,” Eliot countered. Crouching, he pulled off the hat. Alexander inhaled sharply at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “I’m going to take off the blindfold and the gag, Alex. You might want to close your eyes.”

He wasn’t surprised when Alexander ignored his suggestion – wincing in obvious pain at the sudden infusion of light. “Warned you,” he murmured, reaching behind the young man to pick at the knot on his gag. It took him nearly a minute to undo Parker’s handiwork; he was on the verge of just cutting through the damn thing, when the cloth finally came loose in his hands.

Alexander was watching him when he rocked back on his haunches; his expression was sullen, but there was no immediate, hysterical stream of invective. Eliot studied him for a moment, and when he was certain the condition would hold, shifted to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.

It surprised his prisoner. “Are you going to untie me?” Alex asked.

“Nope,” Eliot said immediately. “And if you annoy me, the gag’s going back on. Those are the rules you signed onto.”

He watched as Alexander struggled with the reality of a position he’d probably never dreamed he’d find himself in. “You wouldn’t strike at Drina, would you?” he asked finally – channeling all the fear he was likely feeling into what he hoped was a safe enough topic. “She’s a child – she has nothing to do with any of this!”

 _You’re all children,_ he thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud. Keeping Alexander distracted and emotional would yield Eliot the most actionable intel. It was in everybody’s best interest that he continue down this path as long as they both could stand it. “You need to forget the stories we read when you were growing up, if this really is the path you’ve decided on for yourself. There is no honor here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He hadn’t – because he didn’t want to hear himself say the words…and mean them. “Adjriana’s safety from this point forward depends entirely on you and your brother. Come at me again, and she is very much fair game.”

Alexander looked for a very long moment as if he didn’t know whether to scream at Eliot or give in completely to his fear and start sobbing like a child. Finally he said, his voice tight, “Mother called you a rabid dog after you sent Father to prison. She was right.”

Mention of Damien’s wife surprised a smile out of Eliot – not one of his happier ones. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve been called,” he admitted. “Not even by Juliana. How is your mother?”

Before Alexander could decide how (or if) he wanted to answer, Hardison came into the room; distracting Eliot. “Call for you,” the hacker said quietly, his expression full of all the things he clearly didn’t want to say in anyone else’s earshot.

Eliot turned his attention back to Alexander, before getting to his feet. “Don’t be stupid.”

Quinn immediately moved back to the chair he’d been using. “Non-lethal force only,” Eliot told him. “Feel free to gag him again if he gets mouthy.” The other hitter nodded, tipping him a two-fingered salute.

Leaving Alexander to worry about what he might consider ‘non-lethal’ force, Eliot followed Hardison down the hall to the main office area.

The image that greeted him on the central monitor sent a shiver down his spine, although he managed to maintain his outward calm. “What do you want, Jules?”

Damien Moreau’s eldest son had grown into an artist’s rendition of what his father had looked like when Eliot first met him. The resemblance was close enough that he belatedly realized Hardison was legitimately spooked. _The eyes are hers,_ he noted, although this was one of those rare cases where a boy having his mother’s eyes was no testament to a softening of his character. In her own way, Juliana Moreau was more ruthless than her husband ever had cause to be.

“What do I want?” Jules repeated. “I _want_ fair recompense for the insult you’ve done my family. My father loved you like a brother. He let you walk away when you deserved death for your disobedience.” His phrasing made Eliot wonder – not for the first time – what stories had been told about what had brought about his departure from Damien’s service.

“You repaid his generosity and trust by doing your best to destroy him!”

Affecting the most disinterested expression he could, Eliot yawned and rolled his eyes. “You’re boring me, djecak. What part of come to Portland and negotiate with me like the man you want everybody to think you are, was so hard to understand?”  
*********************************************  
Hardison’s pulse was beating so loud and so fast as he watched Eliot work, that he kept expecting one or both of the men to comment on it. _Not men,_ he reminded himself, briefly ducking his head so that his expression didn’t betray him to the enemy on the monitor. _One barely a man, one child._ Damien Moreau’s sons might be legally considered adults, but as long as he was being forced to stare down the face of his nightmares Hardison was determined to follow Eliot’s lead and deal with them as children.

“Give me your expert as a sign of good faith.” Startled out of his terror, Hardison belated realized Moreau was talking about _him._ “And I will meet you wherever you want to discuss my brother’s release.”

“You’re not dictating terms here, Jules,” Eliot snapped, but he wasn’t the only one whose skills at reading people had improved by way of prolonged contact with Sophie Devereaux. _“Somebody’s put up an insane amount of money for Hardison – and they’re very specific about wanting him alive and in one piece.”_ Like Hardison, Eliot had been hoping the contract offer was more bluff than substance, designed to locate and attack them when they were most vulnerable.

It wasn’t flattering, Hardison decided, and it certainly wasn’t reassuring that Eliot had made the same blunder he had.

“Three days,” Eliot was saying. “Be in Portland, ready to negotiate, or I make you my personal cause.” He glanced meaningfully at Hardison, who immediately cut the feed.

“I’m not going to let them have you,” Eliot said, as soon as they were alone again. Hardison tried to draw strength and comfort from how certain the hitter was, but Eliot’s intensity was frightening all on its own. Nate was the only one of them who had ever witnessed the lengths Eliot was willing to go to keep the family safe, and he’d freely admitted it was nothing he ever wanted to be responsible for unleashing again.

“I know man,” he said out loud, “and I’m more grateful than I have words – but I’m thinking for all our sakes we need to fix this without you having to go all Terminator on the situation.”

Eliot exhaled softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not my first choice either,” he admitted. The two men stood silently for a long moment, then Eliot appeared to decide something. “Parker and I need to go to Paris. If I leave you Quinn for protection, are you going to be okay watching our hostage?”

 _”Is your sister still at that fancy boarding school in Paris?”_ “That depends,” Hardison said, struggling to choose his words carefully as all the possibilities Eliot could be hinting at scrolled through his brain. “You planning on bringing back another guest?”

His teammate smiled, and it was _almost_ friendly. “No guest – just a couple of things to drive home my point about how much they don’t want this fight. And if Jules calls to check up on his sister, I want Drina to be able to say that she’s seen me. It’ll give us an advantage.”

As desperately as he wanted to, Hardison couldn’t argue with Eliot’s logic. “All right. I’ve got enough on my plate here anyway getting the pub up and running again.” He waved dismissively. “Go tell Parker and Quinn – I’ll get you on the first flight out of here.”

He expected Eliot to leave right away, but the hitter only moved closer, gripping Hardison’s shoulder. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Hardison. I promise.”

Hardison tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and eventually had to give it up as a bad job. “I trust you, man,” he said finally. “Just don’t do anything Parker and I can’t pull you back from, okay? Promise me.”

Eliot looked for a second like he was going to brush off Hardison’s request, but ultimately he nodded.

“Promise.”


End file.
